Once more
by thecat-and-thefiddle
Summary: After a devastating blow to the orphanage, a young child mourns a fallen loved one.


Buahahahah! I have returned! Somewhat...

I wrote this out of sheer boredom, so don't expect much. I lost interest around the last few paragraphs, so ... yeah. Kinda crappy. I don't care. I'm not in the same mood now that I was six days ago when I originally started this. Read it. Review it. I don't care.

Somewhat of a spoiler. Don't read if you haven't found out what Rem does to L yet.

* * *

Once more, a night mare shook the small child from her sleep. She tiredly muttered a small sound and sat up to rub her tiny green eyes free of the caked-on crust from tears dried on her tender lashes. Oh, how her eyes hurt- red from weeks of sleepless nights. Months, even, she had spent crying over her, nay, and the entire orphanage's loss of their beloved oldest brother. The nights she was able to fall asleep out of sheer fatigue from crying away her energy to remain conscious she was awoken within mere minutes by horrible images and painful feelings, most of which she was too young to recognize or understand… though she did know the sad, hurt, and confused emotions.

Others, however, she didn't know… and they frightened her greatly. So great, in fact, that she wasn't able to stay in her room, except under the covers, and she couldn't breathe if she did that. Without sparing another moment to thinking about it, she removed herself from her bed, setting her feet down on a hot-pink shag rug that separated her wool-socked feet from the cold hard wood flooring. The old long sleeved white shirt she borrowed from the oldest orphan as a night gown hung unevenly from one shoulder, the comparatively large neck exposing her other and part of her throat. It wasn't much, but just enough to send the cold of the night air shooting down her body and trail shivers along with it. She muttered once more and pulled a thin blanket around herself before moving towards her door.

The most recent Winchester snowstorm had left the orphanage covered in ice like a cherry dropped in a sundae, and just about as cold. She almost couldn't move. It took most of her will power to force her feet out of the warmth of her room and into the frigid sub-freezing hallway. However, once her little paws figured out where they were going, they set themselves into the familiar habit and followed the well-beaten path to the left, up a flight of stairs, and around two corners to a thick wooden door covered in all sorts of childish pictures and "Keep Out" signs, small clips of construction and printer paper decorated with sloppy and unskilled half-dried markers and cheap mostly-wax crayons that claimed the other side of the door and the room therein as property of "L and Bobby", "L and Maya", "Natalie and L Only!" and the such.

As always, there, in the middle of said door, hung the long banner and treaty written in formal calligraphy type, one often seen around the Wammy House, which all the children had signed under the wide watchful eyes of their beloved "leader". It had solved the feuds and everyone agreed that L's room belonged to L and L alone, and only he had the right to say who was allowed past his door and who wasn't. At first nobody agreed to it, though when the dictator of the "holy land" said if there was no agreement there would be no entrance at all, the children quickly resolved their differences, set greed aside, and compromised.

The old grandfather clock affectionately named "Wammers" chimed in his diligent never ceasing time-keeping. Two A.M. The sad baritone solo echoed through the empty halls, not at all helping to relieve the painful heavy gravity each and every member of the household carried on his and her shoulders.

Soon the arpeggios and scales came to a hollow silence. Life seemed to stop in the wake of Wammers' sonata. Amelia closed her eyes and bowed her head in the quiet. Before long existence continued its painful lamentation; percussion supplied by wood crackling as fire consumed it outside inward and unsuspecting termites chewed their way faster and faster towards the painful decimation of the entire colony, wood winds played by the howling blizzard outside, soprano vocals given by the tiny mice and communicating insects only a sad, mournful individual could detect. Even the still alive and crying of the wood in the house as it shifted around to regain a comfortable position in the weather made the place seem alive. Too alive for Amelia's own liking, especially so close to such a tragedy as had befallen the orphanage.

She opened her bright eyes once more, looking upwards along the door and the elaborate elegant engravings of the inhabitant's initial. She wanted to cry, but her orbs were much too dry for such a thing. It wasn't inconceivable to think she had cried out all her cry-box could offer. She sure felt that way. Though, wasn't she allowed to?

With a dry sniffle, she reached upwards, laying her soft skinned hand on the brass knob, tiptoes just barely affording her the height she needed to open the door. It opened with a loud drawn out and unpleasing creak.

She stood there as the unbalanced door swung open on its own due to uneven hinges. A few tears finally found their way to Amelia's eyes as she stood in the door way, staring into the darkness, gulping, parched, at the empty bed in a lonely thin ray of moonlight.

The room was by no means bare. A tabby half as old as L was asleep in the middle of the bed. The bed itself was strewn with pillows, blankets, and stuffed dolls from other children's bedrooms that had been forgotten when the owners came running to their L-kuns for comfort in the middle of the night.

The walls were plastered with pictures and crude poetry and elaborate graduation certificates, though they held no special place- just thrown onto the wall with no frame amongst the rest of the garbled "glories", hung onto the walls with Play-Dough, chewing gum, glue, masking tape, duct tape, Silly Putty, and even Band-aids. Shelves of hand-crafted popsicle stick creations, pom-pom critters, construction paper origami, papier-mâché cartoon characters, and home-made clay statues hung out of reach of the little ones that would want to play with- and (though unintentionally) break- L's treasure of gifts from the other orphans.

Bouquettes and jewelry of flora, feathers, and other shiny baubles lay on the dresser top.

Eight hundred Rubik Cubes of every shape, size, color, edition, and so on were solved and stacked in the form of a six-and-a-half foot Eiffel tower in a corner of the room.

The computer desk was covered with various calendars- "Crime Scene-a-day," "Sudoku-a-day," "Murder-a-day," and so on. Steel spring-and-ring brain teasers were arranged on the computer tower and monitor, which flashed a slide show of digital art created by the babes of the home in the Paint program and pictures of the children covered in badges and certificates from winning various local and even international detective contests.

The room was full of simple trinkets and knick-knacks that gave off a homey feeling. There was hardly any room to walk, except a simple five-by-four square of bare floor reserved for moving from the door to the closet to the desk to the bed and back again. No, the room was far from empty… though, as Amelia gazed longingly towards the bed from which L's ancient feline stared back with his bright yellow eyes, she felt something hollow, something bare, blank… some large all-encompassing void that seemed to swallow all noise, life, emotion, and comfort.

The best word her low-level vocabulary knew to describe it was absent… and perhaps that was the best word of all.

_Absent_… yes, that was indeed perfect.

He was no longer there.

There was no mound under the covers asleep in the moon light. There was no stir of the raven haired boy as he awoke and sat up to complain about having such a loud door. There was no look of calm worry on his face when he met the eyes of a young one awake and standing in his door, silently begging for permission to enter.

He wasn't there to smile warmly at her and hold his hand out, his gesture of welcome to his chamber. He wasn't there to lift her into his bed and arms. He wasn't there to sit her in a nest of L-scented blankets and L-degrees Fahrenheit pillows with Grendel the Tabby as he snuck downstairs and soon returned with two warm cups of hot chocolate covered in inches of marshmallows, melting and dissolving into the treat as she would talk away all her problems on his never judging, never ignoring, never forsaking ears. He wasn't there to let her stroke Grendel's belly as he listened to her tell him how scary her nightmares were. He wasn't there to promise he'd keep her safe. He wasn't there to hide her in his arms against his chest as he brushed her tears away with gentle but strong and capable hands. He wasn't there to allow herself to lull herself to sleep by running her fingers through his bushy soft raven hair and count his heart beats until the consistency and promise of stability comforted her enough to close her eyes for the night, never to again awaken the rest of the night, even during loud thunderstorms.

No, L wasn't there, and never again would he be, and it was all thanks to the pride and stupidity of the idiot the world came to worship. The entire world, that is, except a small relatively unknown orphanage in England that felt the sudden disappearance of the object of love, and admiration they all claimed. The children knew, even before they heard word of it, that their father-figure, brother, councilor, idol, model, guardian, and comforter would no longer be present to fulfill his duties… and it was all the fault of Kira.

That thought sent Amelia to her knees, sobbing and crying, rocking back and forth until she fell over into a small ball, hugging her knees to her chest. She suckled on her thumb until she quieted herself. She pushed herself to her knees and crawled to the bed. She climbed onto it and sighed, curling up next to Grendel, putting her hand next to his head and allowing him to rub his cheek against it and purr.

Oh, how many times had she laid in that exact same spot, sick as a pup while L's caring hand rubbed small comforting circles against her back, his fingers grazing against her scalp through her straight blonde hair.

Never in her memories had medication brought rest- thus healing- as quickly as L's soft coaxing and cooing. He, truly, was the one she imagined stepped from the Bible out of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The one with the magic touch, bringing justice to all and adoring children- performing miracles no one else could, such as solving quarrels between the hot headed Mihael and his indifferent rival Nate. In Amelia's eyes, if L didn't have a dislike of water, he could easily walk atop the pond in the court yard.

He truly was the Incredible Knight in Shining Armor of the orphanage. There was nothing L couldn't win. He always triumphed in everything. Even with five children hanging off his legs and arms, L was still able to smoke nineteen out of twenty opponents in a game of Tennis. It was an amazing feat that was proven over and over again, normally to merely amuse the little ones.

L was the one everyone ran to in emergencies and crises. Even though it was a commandment from his all mightiness that each child was expected to at least spend a few minutes trying to solve their own problems, L was never too busy nor too above smoothing out ruffled feathers between best friends, settling arguments, making snacks, healing broken hearts and hurt feelings, picking up rooms in a hurry, mopping up spilt milk, unclogging a toilet, fixing a toy, gluing together a shattered lamp, or volunteering a hand on the shoulder of a shy individual when an apology was wanted to be made, and the conscience was willing but the courage was weak.

L could keep a secret, and he always did (unless, of course, the secret involved the possibility of someone getting hurt, but the children understood he only broke those secrets for their own well-being) so, as to be expected, he was called upon many a time to help wash bed sheets after an accidental wetting, or when a young boy became sick but didn't want the girls to find out about it. On many occasions he was called by drunken orphans out with friends, needing rides home. The children knew that even as they became teenagers and young adults, they could count on L to take care of them still, especially in such a dangerous situation. He often made it clear both he and Watari would rather spend a night driving a drunken individual home than spend a day at a funeral because said individual was too embarrassed by a bad choice to call and ask for the resources needed to make a right choice.

What would become of the orphanage, she worried, now that the two main pillars of the entire structure (as well as her favorite ember-head) were gone? Besides Roger, there was nobody to take care of them financially. Without Mello to guide the younger children, Watari to lead the older, and L to tend everybody and everything, Amelia was almost certain her family at the orphanage would soon be nothing more than a few children- broken at such a sudden and powerful loss, once happy and now barely more than an empty shell of a shattered soul mourning forever the loss they all shared.

Amelia remembered when everyone woke up that fateful day. Every child had been written a specialized and personal letter from L and directions for it to not be opened until such time that "…you feel it should be read…" before he left and, and every child had carried it with them from the time they awoke until the hour they felt the vibrations of death bells.

When every cell phone and computer screen in the many rooms of the building displayed the vague and boring but at the same time way too colorful white-text-on-black "L is Dead," envelopes were opened. Letters were read. Younger children sought out help with difficult words by turning to more experienced readers, who, in full acknowledgement but disbelief of what happened, fought back cascades of tears.

_You have to be strong, now,_ L had told each and every one of his little ones in one final letter to the entire household. _I don't know who's left to take care of you, but you are all so very strong in all your special ways. _

_Mello- you have such spirit about you; fearlessness and determination radiate and inflict a powerful cancer of strength and courage in all those around you. _

_Near- you are patient, kind, and innocent, always thinking and conniving- perhaps even to a frightening level. _

_Matt- there's not many words that can describe you, but you know your talents and you have no problem or reservations when it comes to showing them off… in a good way, of course._

_Yones- young as you are and still fighting your way out of diapers, you have such potential it is alarming. If you aren't Valedictorian in college by your sixteenth year, I will be very upset. _

_Amelia- I truthfully don't know what to say to you, little one. The claims you have of people talking to you – people who have died years and decades before… being able to find safes, lockers, bodies, and clues only someone passed on would have known…these "Gods of Death" you say follow around some people and are often surprised you speak to them… I can't say I believe any of this. I believe in your abilities themselves, but I have a hard time grasping the concept of "Death Gods". A day ago, you told me I would find out soon what you meant, and I believe you. Your detective skills are quite literally out of this world._

_Turrik- you're almost old enough to leave… but I have to ask you to not forget where you came from. You are responsible, mature, punctual, organized, and everything the kids are not (at this point in time).They still need you, even if you don't need them. (But don't worry. Girls apparently love a man who has no problem spoiling children.) _

_I know you are all too set in your own ways and ideals to see what I do, but when I look at you and even the others who have passed on into the world as adults, I see what Watari was aiming for- perfection. Separate, not one of you can even beat another in a simple game of "Clue" but as I sit back and watch you all engulfed in the thrill of the chase and kill of "CSI" during dinner, I painfully realize you don't need me anymore to sit there and talk you through the answers. You don't need to wait for more clues. By the second commercial break, as a team you have come up with the complete cause and resolution of the entire episode. All I have ever done the past year or so is simply make a small noise of approval when you are on the right track. _

_I have done nothing more. _

_Apart you are easily overcome and fooled. Together, my heart swells to say you surpass me in every aspect._

_If you are reading this… it means the worst possible idea has come to pass- I can no longer be around my sheep. There is likely work I have left behind that needs to be done- some justice that must be delivered. You, my little ducklings, are in charge now. All of what is left in my wake weighs upon each of you. Stay together. Use your heads. Think before leaping. Mello- be nice._

_I'm sorry I cannot be there with you in this troubling time, but please- I'm not worth the tears and mourning. However, I will be lenient. If you insist on crying, I give you no more than two days. That's it. Move on. While you mope around and feel sorrow for me, many others will die. _

_I'm serious, now. I will be watching over you. If I see so much as a moist eye after those two days, I will be highly disappointed. _

_With love eternal,_

_L "Hibou"_

_P.S. I mean it, Mihael. Be. Nice._

This letter, of course, brought most every heart in the house comfort, infusing those who read it with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Amelia recalled when Turrik, trying to keep the spirits up, joked that the emotion was not unlike the one received when L himself was in a snuggly mood, and said one was the only warm person in a five-foot vicinity. Everyone agreed, because it was true. Nobody laughed, because they wanted to feel that safe, comfortable warmth once more.

Upon that thought, Amelia reached into the pocket on the shirt she and L sewed on one summer weekend. She withdrew a piece of paper, folded and somewhat wrinkled. It was a copy of the letter L wrote, printed on personalized stationary with the elaborate font type "L" printed as a semi-transparent back ground. The clever mite had printed off several copies, thinking each child would want their own. Each one came in its own wrapper- Mello's was taped around a bar of chocolate (which was never eaten), Near's was held onto by a small toy robot, and Amelia's came strapped to a big, soft, micro-fiber owl plushy.

She carried her note close to her heart, where she could pretend her "Bubba" would always stay. She pulled her feet under her and mimicked L's perch- the sitting stance that had partway earned him the nickname "Hibou" from a French neighbor. Hibou, translating to English as "owl". L's wide eyes, silent movements, incredible patience, unkempt hair, and pounce-ready perch reminded a family of move-ins of an owl. Unable to neither understand nor pronounce his name, they started calling him 'Hibou,' and among the girls and other little children, the name stuck. It was… "cute".

Amelia lay onto L's bed again, using Grendel as a pillow. The feline purred softly and chewed on her hair. She didn't mind. She was used to it. He had done that since the day her mother brought her to the home, promising she'd be in better hands, and left her at the door with a blanket, a locket, and a kiss. Kitty love, it was.

After a few minutes, Grendel became bored and fell asleep again. Amelia, however, scanned both letters from her beloved L over and over. Oh, if only she could read, she thought.

Eventually, as always, she fell asleep in the safety and comfort of L's room.


End file.
